Glimpses of a War
by samile
Summary: Several short stories and poems that are all grouped together. CHAPTERS 10 THROUGH 13 JUST ADDED.
1. A Moment in Time

**Title: A Moment In Time**

**Word Count: 1,716**

**Rating: PG**

**Notes: One moment in time as seen from four different people**

_**Winters**_

"You need to move fast, get into the town before they can bring mortars and artillery down on you."

I tell this to Dike and pray to God that some of it sinks into his decidedly non-tactical head. It is clear he thinks he knows what he's doing which is what worries me the most; the man is incompetent yet doesn't know it-a sure combination for disaster. I see it, Lipton sees it, and I'm sure a good number of the men see it; yet there is nothing I can do about it except hope against hope that the fates will smile on us today and let us take Foy with little resistance.

I turn to Dike once more just in time to see him stifle a yawn. I feel my own level of irritation beginning to rise.

"I'm counting on you; get it done."

He nods once, sharply and trots off someplace, hopefully to brief the company.

I sigh as I watch him go.

It's done. There's nothing more I can do.

_**Dike**_

I listen as Winters briefs the objective to me, uncertain as to what I am supposed to be getting out of all this. Yes, we need to take the town, what's going to be so hard about that? I know what to do, after all, would they really have me running the company if they thought I was incompetent?

Winters continues to drone on, something about speed and artillery fire, but it doesn't seem too important. I know my platoon leaders have been briefed by him already so if I don't grasp everything here, things should still go okay and no one will ever know the difference.

He tells me to get it done, as if I need to be reminded.

I nod my head and move over to where the other Lieutenants are gathered to let them know the situation.

After all, I am in charge of this company.

_**Lipton**_

I watch Winters and Dike huddled together over a map of what I presume to be Foy and pray that Winters is giving Dike all the help he can. I've had a bad feeling about this ever since I found out Dike would be leading the company in a combat action but I know it cannot be helped.

Men around me are getting jumpy; all of them as nervous as me or perhaps even more so regarding the impending attack.

I watch Luz tweak his radio a bit, brushing a bit of snow off the controls. He smirks at me and yawns widely; I just shake my head and continue observing.

Roe is on the outside of the group looking exhausted and watching the preparations taking place. I wander over to him.

"Gonna get busy before too long, I'm afraid."

He looks up at me with eyes ringed by dark circles.

"I'ma thinkin you're right about tha', Sergean'," he replies in his soft voice, sounding as if he were miles away.

And as I turn to leave, I can't help but wonder what it's like for him, this waiting to see who will live and who will die; who he can save and who he can't.

I hope we all live to see tomorrow.

_**Speirs**_

I stand on the ridge overlooking Foy and observe the town through my field glasses. Things look quiet, too quiet, which means the Germans most likely know we are coming and are prepared.

I see Easy Company about 100 yards to my right, preparing for the assault into town. They're in the lead today which leaves Dog Company with nothing much to do but wait.

I can see Easy's CO being briefed by Captain Winters. I don't trust Dike, never have; the man is too jumpy, is never around when the bullets start flying. I hope he's not leading them all to their deaths.

I raise my glasses again and continue scanning the town below.

_**Winters**_

Easy Company begins its movement toward Foy with 1st and 2nd platoons out in lead and 3rd platoon trailing. Dike, not surprisingly, is in the middle of all this mess, effectively cutting him off from the lead elements.

About 200 meters into the assault, a German machine gun opens up and I see men begin to drop.

I see Dike freeze all the sudden and dive behind a haystack.

I don't believe this.

I can hear Dike calling for everyone to fall back, a stupid move since they are closer to reaching cover in the town than they would be by attempting to re-cross the open ground just covered.

I grab the radio and demand to talk to Dike. I can hear Luz on the other end telling Dike _"You need to talk to Captain Winters,sir."_ Dike never comes on line but I can hear his hysterical orders to fall back.

After a few moments, I see 1st platoon begin to move out alone and wonder what the hell is going on.

Without thinking, I grab my rifle and begin to make my way out there. However, I'm stopped cold by Sink calling for me to return, telling me I'm the battalion XO; get back to the ridge.

I feel utterly helpless standing here watching my men get killed and wounded one by one.

It only takes a moment but I decide Dike has to go. I look around for someone, anyone, to send in there and relieve the man when I finally spot Spiers from D Company.

"Speirs!" I yell. "Get in there, relieve Dike, and take them on in!"

To his credit, Speirs never flinches, never hesitates. I watch him unsling his Thompson and sprint down the hill.

Please, Lord, don't let it be too late.

_**Dike**_

Things are going pretty well as Easy begins moving into Foy; I don't know why Winters was making such a big deal out of all this. The men are moving along and the platoon leaders know what they're doing.

No, not hard at all.

All of a sudden, I hear the sharp bark of a machine gun start up and feel bullets begin to fly by.

I act on instinct and dive toward the nearest stack of hay hoping it will provide some cover.

Before I even have time to catch my breath, I am swarmed by NCO's and platoon leaders who want to know what the hell is going on, what we're going to do.

"Fall back!" I yell. "Everybody fall back!"

"Sir, we have to do something…."

"Sir we are sitting ducks here…. 

"You need to talk to Captain Winters, sir…."

The voices are all too much for me and I begin to feel everything closing in on me.

I don't know what to do and start searching desperately for a solution, try to remember what it was Winters was saying earlier.

I demand 1st platoon flank around the town and attack from the rear with the other two platoons providing covering fire. This seems like a good plan in my head but those around me give each other worried looks.

I reiterate my order and 1st platoons lieutenant takes off running.

I hear the crackle of the radio and Winters' voice drifting through the handset. I see various faces around me, demanding that I take action.

I don't know what to do.

_**Lipton**_

Easy moved out slowly, as if it knew it was on a death march into Foy.

Everything was quiet for the first 175 meters or so with no shots fired by either side. Then, an MG opened up suddenly and men began scrambling for cover, our CO included who made tracks for the nearest haystack.

Shouts of "fall back, fall back" filled the air, stopping the advancing men in their tracks. I had no idea what was going on, couldn't see Dike, couldn't find 1st platoon out in front, so I called for the men to take cover while I went about finding out CO.

He was hunched against the hay looking lost and confused. I felt overwhelming disgust fill me at that moment. Here he was, a goddamn officer, a company commander for chrissake, letting his men die.

"Sir, we need to do something," I demanded. "We can't just stay here, they have us targeted."

I don't know if any of this ever reached Dike's ears or not, but I'm guessing it didn't.

All of a sudden, he starts shouting for 1st platoon to take the town from the rear while the rest of us cover them, a dismal plan at best. I feel my face settle into an expression of shock as I realize that is the best he is able to come up with.

I knew he'd get a lot of good men killed.

_**Speirs**_

I am still watching from the ridge when I see Easy halt suddenly and their CO disappear from sight.

'_What the hell?' _I think to myself. _'Why aren't they moving?'_

I can hear Winters demanding that someone get Dike on the radio that moment but obviously the connection is never made as I see Winters grab his weapon and start to move out toward Easy, only to be stopped by Sink.

Moments later, I see him spot me, demanding that I go out there, relieve Dike, and resume the attack as best as possible.

I am moving down the slope before I even realize it, and am at the haystack where Dike is huddled in a matter of minutes.

He looks as if he's in shock, merely nodding when I tell him I'm taking over. I hear the sound of a collective sigh fill the air as the men realize they are free from their CO.

I demand for Lipton to give me a status report and he does, indicating where 1st platoon is cut off and where a sniper in a nearby building has been steadily cutting down the company.

I bark orders out and the men spring to their feet to carry them out.

I watch Easy begin to reform and advance into town, cutting down enemy soldiers left and right. I follow close behind, never looking back to see if Dike is still sitting there.

The sniper fire suddenly stops.

Maybe it'll be alright


	2. Making it Through the War

Title: Making It Through The War

Word Count: 264

Rating: PG

Notes: Drabble; involves various members of Easy.

**Making It Through The War**

Nixon grins and drinks himself into oblivion whenever he has the chance.

Winters steels himself against the loss of men's lives and tries his best to make sure as many of his soldiers as possible survive.

Lipton worries after the men and takes care of them the best he can.

Speirs is gruff, enigmatic and never lets anyone too close to him.

Webster writes what he sees and tries to make sense of the horror that is war; he analyzes it with pretty words and humane phrases.

Luz imitates those around him, cracks jokes and tries remembering what it is like to be happy.

Malarkey relies on his best friends for support and laughter, but then they are killed and he finds within himself a strength he never know he possessed.

Liebgott thinks of the atrocities committed against his people and remembers the looks on the faces of those liberated from Landsburg.

Roe reminds himself that although there are those he didn't save, there are also plenty he did.

Bull talks in his slow, measured drawl and tries to prepare the replacements for battle the best he can.

Bur most of all, they learn to rely on each other, die for each other, hold one another when they most need it; they learn to offer a kind word when someone is down, to watch each others backs no matter what, to take care of one another.

And that is how they make it through the long months of war. It is also how they become brothers for a lifetime.


	3. No One Will Ever Know

Title: No One Will Ever Know

Word Count: 336

Rating: PG

Notes: Drabble focusing on Nixon.

**No one will ever know.**

No one will ever know the guilt he felt at never having fired his weapon in combat.

He's a goddamn officer, for Chrissake, and yet he never managed to fire one round. How the hell, he thought taking a good long drink, how the hell does that happen? It wasn't as if he didn't want to, or that he didn't have the opportunity. He just never did it. No one asked if it bothered him, this lack of true combat and he never volunteered the answer.

And no one ever found out.

No one will ever know that he was scared to death to go to war.

Absolutely terrified. He worried about the consequences of someone finding out his fear so he worked hard, _so hard_, to hide it behind a wall of laughter and smirks, joked and alcohol. He became just one of the guys, just another officer there to do his job.

And no one ever found out.

No one will ever know how much it hurt him to get that letter from Kathy where she announced she was divorcing him.

Sure, their marriage wasn't the best but he thought they at least loved each other enough to make it work. At least, he loved her enough.

But instead of breaking down he ranted about his dog, a safe, unemotional subject he knew he could talk about without tears running down his face.

And no one ever found out.

No one will ever know how hard it was for him for the war to be over, for the fighting to stop, for the men to all go home.

He felt as if he were losing everything good and true in his life felt as if he were losing the only people who understood and accepted him for who he was. He felt as if he were being cast adrift on a big, lonely, open sea with no one there to watch his back.

And no one ever found out.


	4. The Fallen

Title: The Fallen

Word Count: 125

Rating: PG

Characters: Any of the men, really

Notes: Just a short poem I wrote, not sure if it's any good or not. Doesn't focus on specific characters but takes place around Bastogne.

The Fallen

I remember

That long, cold, endless night

When I held you in my arms

As you trembled with fright

And looked up at me,

The fear plain in your eyes

And I knew without being told

I was watching you die

Hold on, it's fine

It'll all be okay;

I just wanted to cry-

What else could I say?

Medic! I yelled

Over and over until my voice grew raw

For I knew not how to fix

The carnage I saw

I felt you go still

As you struggled no more

Yet how could I be sad

The angels were lifting you out of war

The snow drifted down

As you finally slept

The light left your eyes,

And the heavens just wept.


	5. Stranger With Your Eyes

Title: Stranger With Your Eyes

Rating: PG

Characters: Winters/Nixon

Notes: Kind of depressing, but I can't seem to write anything lighthearted and fluffy at the moment : (

Stranger With Your Eyes

He's drunk.

When he's drunk, he wants to talk.

When he wants to talk, he finds Dick.

Pushing his chair back, hearing the rough wood scrape across the floor, he stands, a bit unsteady at first though it would take a good eye to see it, and grinning waves his goodbye to Harry who's on the other side of the pub. Pocketing his flask, he strides toward the exit.

Allowing the heavy door to shut behind him, he finds himself surrounded by the quiet of the night, soft sounds drifting out from here and there behind closed doors and windows to meet his ears.

The streets are dark and only the slightest bit of moonlight slips through the clouds overhead. It's okay, though. Even when drunk, even in the darkness, he knows where he's going. It's a skill he prides himself on, this ability to navigate through town completely plastered.

Stumbling up the wooden steps of the quarters he shares with Dick, he attempts to be quiet but suspects he fails miserably, especially when he knocks something over in his fumbling and hears it clatter on the cobblestones below. So much for stealth, he thinks, swinging the door open to be greeted with the soft glow of a lamp on the table.

Opening his mouth to call out to Dick, the words never leave his throat as he sees his friend hunched over the table, back toward him, head in his hands. Moving closer, he sees his shoulder moving up and down. Dick is silent but Nixon can feel the pain coming off him in waves.

He's uncertain now and feels himself sober up a bit at the sight before him.

"Dick?" he calls out, hoping against hope his words don't sound as slurred to Dick as they do even to him.

Another step forward and he's able to see the papers spread on the table, lists of names and addresses. He's confused, but it doesn't take long for the realization of what Dick has been doing to hit him. The letters to the families of those killed in action.

Damn it, he knew he'd promised to help with something tonight, but had been unable to remember what. Therefore, he found himself in the pub, laughing it up with Compton and Welsh, as carefree as he could be in the middle of a war.

Damn it, he'd told Dick he'd help with the letters.

But here they were now, only a few letters finished, himself rather drunk, and Winters suffering before him.

"Dick," he called out again, a bit more forcefully this time, causing Winters' head to snap up and his hands to drop to his lap. He looked trapped, ashamed to be seen in such a state.

"Dick, there was nothing you could have done. It's war. Men are going to die."

He's beginning to wonder if Dick had heard him at all when he finally does respond.

"They were good men."

"Yeah, Dick, they were. They're all good men but that doesn't make a difference. The Krauts don't care if you're the best or the worst soldier out there. It's a level playing field."

"Yeah. Yeah, you're right."

Sighing loudly, Dick begins shuffling the papers in front of him into several stacks.

"That doesn't make it any easier to take, though."

The weariness in Dick's voice is what gives him pause, what makes him stop and distance himself from this moment and take a good hard look at his friend of the past two years. What he sees shocks and saddens him. How could he have lived with this man, fought along side this man, trained with this man and not seen the changes which had gradually taken hold.

The light had gone out of his eyes, the expression of hope he had seen so many times was only a distant memory now. The lines around his mouth were deeper and new ones had set in around his eyes. The man who sat before him was no longer the picture of health, strength and vitality he had once been. Instead, he saw a stranger with Dick's red hair and blue eyes, a stranger who looked exhausted and beaten down, a stranger who was much too thin and weary looking for his comfort.

Pulling out a chair, he sank into it, lamplight casting deep shadows in the corners of the room. Reaching for his flask, he suddenly froze. How many nights, he wondered, had he come in drunk, knowing Dick would be there to make sure he didn't kill himself stumbling around, to make sure he made it to bed, to listen to him as he rambled on and on. But what the hell kind of friend had he been? The changes in Dick hadn't happened overnight, he just hadn't taken the time to look. The scratch of a pen across paper caught his attention. Dick was writing again.

"Dick. Don't do this to yourself. Go to bed, you're not doing yourself any good right now."

Dick met his eyes, the anguish in them slowly fading to steely resolve. And looking back down, the scritch-scritch sound of his writing filled the silence once more.

Maybe he did need that drink after all.


	6. The Truth Of The Matter

The Truth of the Matter

After the paperwork is all complete, signed, and submitted I take a moment to stop and wonder why I am doing this.

It's not that I don't have strong feelings and attachments to many of the men here, especially those in Easy Company; that's not the reason I've requested a transfer. In fact, I had to search myself long and hard before I arrived at the truth of the matter.

Sure, on paper the official reason is stated as a desire to help the war effort in the Pacific; that I feel I could possibly be a useful asset to the operations currently taking place there. It all sounds very proper, very correct, very Army.

However, the truth is I don't think I can bear to watch anymore men die such useless, senseless deaths while we are supposed to be at peace. If I must be forced to deal with death anywhere, let it be in a combat zone where such things are more readily, if not easily, accepted.

So, when I'm told my men have earned the right to keep me around, I feel a pang of sadness in my heart. Because though they may have earned the right to keep me, I don't know how many of them I will be able to keep alive.


	7. Medic

Title: Medic

Word Count: 176

Characters: Roe

Rating: PG

Notes: Short drabble focusing on Roe

Medic

Back in the states, Eugene Roe considered his job as a medic to be one of the most fulfilling in the Army. He was trained in what to do in countless situations, knew how to treat a gunshot wound, knew how to take care of burns, broken bones, frostbite, heat injuries…the list went on and on. He considered himself ready to take on whatever came his way.

And then he went to war.

And saw men without limbs, men bleeding profusely, the damage shrapnel could do; he saw men with wounds so large he could put his hand inside them, men for who it was too late and no amount of medical attention could save them, men without hope.

And as the war went on, he began to feel himself changing.

From a man who believed he possessed the tools to save the men around him into a man who realized with each passing day the odds were stacked against him.

He wondered when the cry of 'medic' transformed from a blessing to a curse.


	8. What I Have To Do

Title: What I Have To Do

Word Count: 232

Rating: PG

I'm not brave. Sure, my Ma and everyone back home says I am, but really, I'm not.

You ever look back on a big, pivotal event in your life and wonder what the hell you were thinking at the time? Well, I do, sometimes. Sometimes, I think about joining the Paratroops. I guess it was the glamour and the promise of excitement that really got to me. The extra $50 was just a bonus. I wanted to be the best.

But now, while I'm lying in a field in the middle of some company's DZ along the coast of France, trying to get out of my harness, wondering what the _hell _my chute is caught on, hugging the ground so the machine gun a few yards to my left doesn't manage to spot me, the adrenaline fades and the fear seeps in.

I'm alone. The only sounds I hear are the wind as it moves through the trees, the planes and they pass overhead, and a break in the stutter of the German MG as its crew pauses only long enough to reload.

I look around, clutch my rifle tightly and move deeper into the tree line, trying not to look too closely at the shadows, lest they reveal a nightmare come to life.

I'm alone. I'm afraid.

I'm not brave. I never was.

I'm just doing what I have to do.


	9. Never Truly Alone

They jump into Normandy under the cover of darkness, fighting hard til dawn.

They straggle in, sometimes alone, sometimes in pairs, sometimes as a whole group. It's a steady trickle and gradually Easy ranks fill back up.

They move out after awhile, no one's sure how long it's been. Time seems to be a living thing, moments ebbing and flowing around them.

They find Carentan to be a nightmare, and are soon pinned down in the street as an MG opens up from above.

They hear Winters' voice yelling, and move out, sometimes alone, sometimes in pairs, sometimes as a whole group, all charging up the dusty, dirty road toward the town that would claim some while allowing others to live to fight another day.

They find the fighting fierce; for some this was their first taste of battle.

They regroup after the fighting tapered off, falling in with the remainders of their squads, their platoons, shuffling feet and equipment, speaking in hushed tones and eager words.

They would form a perimeter around the town, secure it, make it theirs and cling to it tightly. After all, they'd secured their right to stay there with their blood.

They look out upon the fields, a strange mixture of exhaustion and elation in the air.

They drift off to the nearby houses for a few hours of sleep, sometimes alone, sometimes in pairs, sometimes in groups, jumpboots kicking the powdery dust on the paths into fine white clouds.

And in the icy hell of Bastogne, they'll look back on this day and remember.

The heat.

The smell.

The screams.

And how they were never truly alone.


	10. Don't Cry

The words between the astriks are the words to an Army marching cadence, if you're curious.

Don't Cry

Somewhere there's a mother

She's cryin' for her son

'Cause he's an Airborne Ranger

And he's fightin' far from home

He said 'don't cry me no tears,

I don't need your sympathy,

'Cause I'm an Airborne Ranger

And that's all I'll ever be

She remembers waving goodbye to her son as the crowded train pulled out of the station carrying hundreds of young men off to war. She tried not to cry in front of him, she knew he wanted her to be strong. But when the last car was little more than a speck on the horizon and the clouds of smoke and steam had faded away, she pulled out her white lace handkerchief and wept.

Somewhere there's a daughter,

She's cryin' for her dad

'Cause he's an Airborne Ranger

And he's fightin' far from home

He said 'don't cry me no tears,

I don't need your sympathy,

'Cause I'm an Airborne Ranger

And that's all I'll ever be

'Momma,' she asked, after her father had hugged her goodbye and promised her this was just goodbye for a little while, not for good, 'why does daddy have to leave us? Isn't there someone else who can go?' Her eyes hold all the innocence of a child that, before the war is over, will be gone forever.

Somewhere there's a woman

She's cryin' for her man

'Cause he's an Airborne Ranger

And he's fightin' far from home

He said 'don't cry me no tears,

I don't need you sympathy,

'Cause I'm an Airborne Ranger

And that's all I'll ever be,

That's all I'm gonna be,

That's all I wanna be

'Promise me you'll be safe,' she had begged the evening before he left. She'd received hasty words of comfort in return and declarations that she knew no matter how well intended they were at the moment, would go out the window at the first hint of adventure. He left her standing on the porch with a kiss, holding onto her dreams of the future a scrap of paper with his Company address as a warm breeze rustled through the honeysuckle vines.


	11. The Heaviest Thing In The World

The heaviest thing in the world is not

A fully loaded combat pack

An M-1 rifle or

Jump gear.

The heaviest thing in the world is

A pair of dog tags

Pulled from a friend's neck

As they lay lifeless on the ground.


	12. Their Eyes

Their Eyes 

Landsburg nearly breaks him, but there's no way in hell he's gonna let anyone know that. He hates the Germans, hates those fucking Kraut bastards more than he ever thought possible. It breaks his heart to tell those prisoners to go back inside the camp, he can still see their eyes, the way they looked at him as if he was no better than one of them, as the gates swung shut behind them.

He tries to sleep in the back of one of the trucks, but it's their eyes, their goddamn eyes that keep him awake. Giving up on resting, he takes a walk, lighting a cigarette, avoiding anyone who might want to talk to him. He's wandered in a circle without realizing it, and is soon at Battalion HQ. He turns to leave the way he came when he spots him, spots bright red hair that can only belong to one person.

He'll never forgive him. He could have called for Webster, but he called for him instead.

And now he's haunted by their eyes.


	13. Such A Shock

Such A Shock 

His hands clutch the rifle

Tight and unwavering

A clip is shoved halfway in

Waiting for that final nudge

His uniform is soaked

With sweat

With mud

And covered in dirt

His arms rest

On the edge of a foxhole

Poised to shoot

Ready to fight

Which is why

The neat round hole

In his head

Is such a shock


End file.
